John the Badass
by FreakShowCentral
Summary: An alternative ending to the climactic gunfight on the Marston farm. Oneshot.


**This is - most likely - going to be my one and only story for **_**Red Dead Redemption**_**, but I'll try to make it good. Whereas the overall tone of the video game is dark and somewhat depressing, this oneshot fic is supposed to be more lighthearted and humorous. Basically, it's just an alternative ending to John's storyline. I'll give you all a hint: In this version, a certain "someone" doesn't die. Anyway, hope you all have fun reading this and please don't forget to review after you're done!**

**I wrote this fic back in about 2010 or 2011 - I can't exactly recall which one - under the pen name PowerPlay and have recently had to change my name to MagicMan01 for undisclosed purposes. I apologize to those who have read, favorited, and reviewed this story and I hope you will be able to locate and enjoy it yet again.**

**Warning: In case you weren't able to figure it out, there's a **_**lot **_**of shooting and swearing here. Just a friendly reminder...**

**-Disclaimer- I don't own **_**Red Dead Redemption**_**; just this story and - most of - the events in it.**

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><p><em><strong>John the Badass<strong>_

"Come on out, Marston! You're surrounded!" announced Edgar Ross in his northern accent that was unlike all the southern drawls used in New Austin.

John opened the barn door a crack and peered out through it, allowing the slightest amount of sunlight to pass through and illuminate a small rectangle of darkness in the barn. He saw Edgar Ross, Archer Fordham, a few other federal agents, and about a dozen U.S. Cavalrymen. All of their guns were pointed right at his position.

"Damn it!" he swore quietly.

There was almost certainly no way he was getting out of this. He'd already killed nearly two dozen men in the farm raid thus far, so even if he did give himself up, the least the government was going to give him was a painless death... if he was lucky. His only other option was to fight his way out, but that seemed nearly impossible given his current circumstances.

"Hey, John!" Ross yelled again. "You gonna come out, or are we going to have to come in there and get you? Look, John, don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be. Don't make me kill you."

"Um, weren't we going to kill him anyw-?" Archer began before he was interrupted by his superior.

"Archer, shut the hell up!" Ross quietly hissed to his partner. "We're trying to take him out without adding any more bodies to this goddamn bloodbath here, so the least you can do is keep your big mouth shut!"

Returning his gaze to the barn, he continued his attempt to coax out the outlaw who was seeking refuge within it. "John? You coming out any time soon? My wife's making dinner tonight and I don't wanna be late when she sets the table!"

John rolled his eyes. Like he even cared if Ross was late for dinner. "Hey, Ross!" John yelled through the door. "Why don't you eat some hot lead from my revolver? That'll fill your fat ass up pretty damn quick, won't it?"

"Are you insulting me, you uneducated hick?" Ross shot back.

"Yes, I do believe I am, you old son of a bitch!"

"Why don't you go back to what you do best, like raising the chickens and planting corn?"

"Why don't you go back to your desk in Blackwater, you government issued piece of shit?"

Ross rolled his eyes and sighed hard. "John, are we going to keep trading insults back and forth like a pair of sophomoric schoolboys, or are we gonna be civilized about this and act like real men?"

John looked down at the ground and sighed as well. Even if he didn't want to admit it, Ross _did _have a point; all he was doing was prolonging his inevitable fate. He might as well just step out and accept it with some dignity instead of skulking around in the barn. Holstering his revolver, he took a deep breath before swinging open the barn doors.

He'd been in the dark barn for less than ten minutes, but the afternoon sun still momentarily blinded him when he stepped out. Shielding his eyes from the sun's rays with one hand, his eyes swept from left to right as they adjusted to the light. Every man before him was armed and had their guns trained on him. Most were standing, except for two on horseback.

Ross was the only one who didn't have an itchy trigger finger. Casually holding a semi-automatic pistol in his right hand while smoking a cigar with his left, he took a long drag and then slowly exhaled the tobacco, enjoying its sweet taste.

"Now see, John, that wasn't so hard, was it? All you had to do was walk on out here and give yourself up. People do it for me all the time. That is, unless they put up a fight, in which case I just shoot them."

He chuckled to himself and looked at the outlaw, clearly enjoying his own humor.

"Go to hell, Ross," John insulted the agent. "You probably enjoy killing criminals, you sick bastard."

"Aw, John," Ross looked at the ground while shaking his head, "you're such a hypocrite. You say I like taking the lives of criminals, and yet, what have you done your whole adult life? As I seem to recall, it was _you_ who ran with that petty little band you called a gang, and it was _you_ who killed dozens of innocent people and stole everything they had!"

"How many times do I have to tell you?" John shot back, clearly irritated. "We only killed bad people, not the innocent! Not until Dutch went insane and started that damn killing spree."

"You associated with Dutch van der Linde, Bill Williamson, and Javier Escuella when that whole mess started!" Ross pointed accusingly. "You knew what they were doing, and yet you didn't drop out until much later! You had your chance, and you didn't take it. That's your own damn fault."

"Yeah, it's all your fault, Marston!" Archer jumped in.

Ross turned to his partner. "Archer, what did I say about you talking?" he hissed angrily. "When I want your damn help, I'll ask for it!"

John laughed. "What's the matter, Ross? You need your lapdog to back you up in arguments, too?"

"Well, even if he _is_ a royal pain in the ass, at least he's got my back," Ross smiled crookedly, putting his cigar back in his mouth and taking another puff of it. "I don't see anyone with you."

"I can handle myself just fine, Ross. I don't need anyone to back me up. Just me and my gun."

"Oh, really?" Ross tilted his head curiously.

"Yeah, really."

Originally, John's plan was to just walk out gun in hand and go down in a hail of bullets, but while arguing with Ross, a new plan had implanted itself in his brain. If he could time everything perfectly, then maybe... just maybe...

"You aren't planning on doing anything stupid, are you, John?" Ross' annoying voice brought the outlaw back into reality, almost seeming like he could read the other man's mind.

"I wouldn't exactly say 'stupid,'" John smiled menacingly as he drew his gun faster than the eye could register. All those lessons from Landon Ricketts had really paid off.

Somehow, a split-second before the trigger was pulled, Ross' brain was able to process the barrel of the gun aimed straight at his forehead. His eyes went wide and the cigar he was smoking fell out of his mouth, as it was wide open in shock at what was about to happen.

"Oh, shit!" he exclaimed.

The older male tried to raise his heavier sidearm at his attacker, but it was in vain; John was just too fast.

As soon as the hammer was cocked back and the trigger was pulled, the bullet chambered inside exited the weapon with both power and precision. The round went right through Ross' forehead and out the back of his skull, leaving a clean hole in his head. As his head snapped back from the power of the shot, blood and matter sprayed out of the entrance and exit wounds of it, coloring the dusty ground beneath him crimson. His body followed the direction of his head and landed on the ground with a thud, his gun falling from his now lifeless hand. He was dead before he landed.

By the time everyone had regained their senses and overcome their pure shock at what had just happened, John was already sprinting towards the barn less than three feet behind him. The posse only got off a few shots at the outlaw before he leaped inside, none of them hitting their intended mark. As he hit the ground facedown, John heard and saw the lead strike the front of the barn, splintering off pieces of wood and metal. He stuck his foot out and kicked the door closed, rolling to the side as the door soon filled with holes.

But he was alive and that was all that mattered. Hell, if he lived through this, he could redo the whole barn for him and his family!

Except for Uncle, those bastards. Even if his older relative had been a lazy drunk, John was still saddened by his passing and would make the sons of bitches pay for what they did to him. He hadn't deserved to die the way he did.

Focusing back on the present, John crawled over to the door and hid behind a bale of hay, hoping to find some cover from the men outside. They were firing their weapons wildly now, unaware of his actual location within the barn. Still, though, a few bullets and shotgun pellets hit the top of the bale, sending small, individual straws flying through the air and slowly floating to the ground as if they weighed nothing at all.

When John heard the majority of the men outside cease firing to reload, he quickly moved to the door and opened it just a crack, squeezing off a shot. It hit a soldier straight through the heart as he was reloading his rifle, causing him to fall backwards. Less than a second later, John managed to get off one more shot at yet another soldier. The bullet struck him in the center mass, dropping him instantly.

John ducked back into the barn just as another storm of fire hit the door, hiding behind the hay once again. He knew he couldn't keep shooting like this for long because he would eventually be overrun by the force outside. He had to come up with a plan. Just as he was trying to do that very thing, though, a shot missed his head by mere inches and went sailing right through the barn, hitting a support beam by the back doors.

The shooting slowed up a little and he leaned out of the door ever so slightly. He spent the rest of his ammo on a pair of soldiers; one was killed instantly with a shot to the head while the other crumpled to the ground with two to the chest.

Quickly ducking back inside, John ran to the other side of the barn and emptied out his revolver, putting in half a dozen new rounds. Several shots missed him by mere inches while his precious time was spent reloading. When he was finished, he cocked back the hammer and returned to the gunfight.

Taking cover by the door and peeking out of it, he saw several more soldiers (two of which who were mounted on horses), a pair of federal bureau agents, and Archer. As soon as they caught the slightest glimpse of his head, they sprayed the whole front of the barn.

Unfortunately for them, none hit their intended target, giving John time to take out one of the mounted soldiers with a shot in the chest. As the man fell from his horse and the others around him furiously reloaded their weapons, John hurried back inside and, once again, shut the door.

"Damn it!" he heard Archer exclaim in an irritated tone. "This isn't working! We need to get into that barn. You and you, go through the front!"

Clearly aware that at least two men were going to be entering the barn, John got as far away from the door as possible and crouched behind some hay, holding his breath as he kept his gun trained on the entrance. Soon enough, a soldier and an agent ran in. John whistled to get their attention.

As the soldier turned in the direction of the high-pitched tone, he was dropped with a single bullet to the chest. The agent turned and raised his Winchester rifle to the outlaw, but he went down with a double tap to the head. John quickly got up and grabbed the rifle, holstering the revolver at his side.

He ran to the back of the barn and was about to open the door when a bullet suddenly struck the wooden frame less than an inch away from his hand. He spun on his heel and did a perfect one-eighty. The soldier who fired at him was in the doorway trying to expel the spent casing as quickly as he could, but was no match for his adversary.

John fired a round at the man's gut and watched him go down screaming in pain. Cocking the underside of the rifle to chamber the next round, the accused killer aimed the barrel at the man's head. He was still screaming and clutching his bleeding chest when the high caliber round struck him in the head, at which point his cranial matter scattered every which way and finally silenced him.

John felt something wet hit his torso and looked down to see the man's blood on his chest. Shrugging it off as if it were nothing, he simply turned on his heel and unlocked the door, finally exiting the shot-up barn. Hell, he'd been covered in worse before.

Cocking the Winchester again, he both mentally and physically prepared himself to engage the rest of his enemies. Rounding the corner of the barn, he saw another soldier coming around the bend before the man noticed him. Using this to his advantage, he fired and took him out with a chest shot. He cocked the rifle and kept going, running by the body.

He reached the front of the barn and looked out at the scene of the gunfight. Ross lay dead in the dust with his eyes still open, surrounded by the bodies of nearly a dozen men.

The pair of horses that had served as mounts for the Cavalrymen had long since fled the scene to safety, much like Jack and Abigail had when John told them he would take care of the rest of the men on his own. Speaking of which, he hoped they were all right...

Suddenly, a shot hit the ground mere inches from his feet, bringing John back to reality. He instinctively dove behind a hay bale and slowly stuck his head up, looking for the man who had just shot at him. He saw the aggressor running toward him and fired near his arm. The bullet struck the Cavalryman in the shoulder and sent him to the ground crying out in pain.

John stood up to cock his gun and finished him off with a shot to the face, silencing the man's agony. He was about to look for any remaining men on the farm, but felt something cold and hard press against the back of his neck before he could even take a step.

"Drop it," the agent behind him ordered.

John did as he was told and dropped the rifle, throwing his hands up in the air as the universal sign of surrender.

"Now turn around slowly and don't try anything, or I swear to God I'll blow your fucking head off," the agent threatened, his gun still pressed into John's neck.

John began to slowly turn around, but grabbed the agent's right hand with his own and tried to wrestle the gun out of it. The agent fired off a shot into the sky as the outlaw wrestled with him. John got out his own pistol and drove it into the man's chest, firing it twice. The agent stopped moving and collapsed to the ground, blood spilling out over his chest.

Suddenly, pellets whizzed by his head into the evening air, breaking the silence. Hearing the telltale cock of a shotgun reloading, John took cover behind the hay again and slowly looked up, only to be shot at again. The pellets sent straws of hay flying everywhere. He barely had enough time to duck down and avoid having his face rearranged by hot lead. He heard Archer cock the shotgun again and eject the spent shell while being taunted by him.

"Come on, John. Give it up!" the agent provoked him. "You can't win. I'm a trained federal agent and you're just a farmer. What do you have that I don't?"

"Accuracy!" John yelled as he stood up.

Things seemed to go in slow motion at that moment; Archer raised his shotgun about halfway to John's body as John raised his revolver. Archer fired again, narrowly missing the man he and so many others had tried to kill. John returned fire and hit the lawman in the hand, causing him to collapse to the ground.

"Aw, fuck!" he screamed in pain as he dropped. He let go of his shotgun, holding his bloody hand with his good one.

John threw his revolver to the ground and ran to the body of the federal agent he'd killed less than a minute ago. Grabbing the semi-automatic pistol and walking toward Archer, he saw the man reach for the shotgun lying close to him. John shot the gun away from his enemy, fully disarming him. He kept the gun raised at Archer's head until he reached him.

Archer looked up at John when he was standing over him, cast in the shadow of his enemy. "Go ahead, kill me!" he dared in a strained voice, still clutching at his wounded hand. "It'll be the biggest mistake you ever made."

"Bullshit," John replied simply.

He pulled back the trigger and shot Archer through the head, killing him instantly. A huge explosion of blood and matter materialized from the downed man's head as the bullet went through his head and out in several thousandths of a second. John dropped the gun next to Fordham's body, shaking his head and walking back to his house.

It wasn't as if he regretted killing Archer or anyone else today, it was just that he wished they'd never come after him in the first place. Hadn't they anticipated this happening? Whatever the case was, though, he knew that he and his family would get through it together like they always had in the past.

He was ascending the steps and was about to enter his house when he stopped and turned around to gaze at the carnage all around his land. Taking in the bodies, blood, and destruction, a small, barely noticeable smile found its way across his lips.

"Damn, I'm a badass!" he chuckled to himself. "Looks like I've still got it."

Reflecting on the shootout for just a moment longer, he entered his home and softly closed the door behind him, waiting for his wife and son to come back and greet them with open arms.

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><p><strong>Well, that was pretty fun to write! I <strong>_**really**_** detested the actual ending to John's arc, so that was pretty much where the inspiration for this oneshot came from.**

**Oh, just one minor discrepancy. When I say "semi-automatic pistol," I mean the High Power Pistol, not the actual Semi-Automatic Pistol that various people, such as Dutch van der Linde, for example, use in the game. I could say "automatic pistol," but considering the fact that the FN Model 1903 - which is what I'm pretty sure the High Power Pistol is - isn't **_**fully**_** automatic, I'm sticking with the proper term to be more realistic.**


End file.
